The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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1-22-10 F


I hope I didn't lose anyone with my mini-vacation. I didn't have advanced notice, so I couldn't arrange to let you readers know. Well, as usual the pics and responses are up at my LiveJournal at:


http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/60573.html


On with the story -

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Chapter Thirty-Three

Shock

Narcissa was at a loss how to cheer up Lucius’ new bride. Then she perked up at a sudden idea, “Oh, do let’s go to the new stationery emporium. It’s only at the end of the next block. We can buy different colors of parchment for each House. Won’t that be lovely?”

Hermione, who had been told by Lucius under no circumstances was she to get any other than the cheap, regular tan parchment, groaned internally, her lips tightening in irritation. Obviously, neither Lucius nor Snape had braved telling Narcissa that one color was all they were going to purchase. Was cowardice also a Slytherin trait or had neither of them thought at all of sending Narcissa with Hermione to buy the damned parchment? Probably the latter. Men! But her previous overarching tenseness with the sad situation dissipated with Narcissa’s attempts to cheer Hermione up, and a tiny kernel of true friendship broke the ground between the two witches. In time perhaps the relationship would grow. Hermione saw she needed to accept friendship where it was offered, now that she had inherited the stigma of the Malfoy name.

“Drapers first,” she said avoiding the parchment problem for the moment. “Perhaps the drapers will have some quiet colors we can order for the dorms. Shall we see what is available?” Hermione tactfully sidestepped responding to Narcissa’ suggestion as she came to a corner, not sure where to go.

Narcissa was relieved at seeing Hermione’s spirits rise and she exclaimed happily, “I know just the place. It’s very exclusive and they have beautiful Egyptian cotton in many colors.” She looked so pleased with herself Hermione was annoyed all over again. Now she had to burst Narcissa’s naïve balloon about keeping the costs down. This budding friendship was going to have its share of exasperating moments, Hermione foresaw.

“Narcissa, doesn’t Egyptian cotton cost a lot? Hogwarts doesn’t have the resources for high end materials.” There! Perhaps she could use the same argument for the parchment when it came time.

“Oh,” Narcissa’ face fell with her disappointment. “Of, course, you’re right. Severus told me the allotments for the school weren’t a lot. Well,” she brightened, “I know of another discount warehouse where lower quality sheeting material can be purchased. I went there once with Severus when he was buying cheesecloth for sieving ingredients in his laboratory. It doesn’t have the best quality, but it should meet the monetary limits. It’s along this side street.”

Narcissa led the two of them to a quiet, smaller avenue off the main Alley and fetched up before a nondescript set of double doors with a sign over the lintel proclaiming, “Diggory’s Drapers – Quality for Less”. “Here we are,” she said.

“Is this Diggory a relation to Cedric Diggory’s family?” Hermione hadn’t known any more than that Cedric’s father worked at the Ministry.

Narcissa said, “I believe his father inherited it as a business and his mother runs it. I don’t keep up with the familial relationships of Hufflepuffs much. They so seldom marry Slytherins.”

A wry twist of her mouth was Hermione’s only reaction, unseen by the other witch. Narcissa must be fount of knowledge on the wizarding world’s social spheres if she thought that wasn’t much information. She had known about Susan’s family, too. It probably had been one of her major responsibilities as Lucius’ wife, to keep abreast of who was who.

Hermione knew Snape would have no interest in Narcissa’s intricate understanding of who to patronize and who to ostracize; their two wildly different social worlds should have made any marriage between them unthinkable. Yet Narcissa had hopped the fence and settled very happily into Snape’s more proscribed lifestyle. That insight made Hermione feel a little more charitable about her predecessor. The new Mrs. Malfoy promised herself that she would never make any attempt to learn those bogus cultural skills. Lucius could bloody well hire a social secretary if he wanted inside information on who was worth knowing in his stratum.

Narcissa flashed Hermione a guileless smile filled only with the prospect of shopping fun and disappeared inside. Hermione followed, resigned to a selection of decorator colors for sheets that Lucius was certain to veto.

But once within the large warehouse-like building housing row upon row of bolts of fabric in endless colors, Narcissa surprised the little witch with her homemaking acumen, “We’ll need sheets that can be interchanged throughout the castle as they’ll become mixed together when they’re washed at different times.” And Narcissa pointed out an array of quiet neutral shades that all went with each other, mix and match.

Hermione concurred, “Brilliant! I wouldn’t have thought of that,” giving Narcissa her due for the perceptive domestic logistics while adding a bit of color flair to the mundane linens. “Um, Narcissa?” Hermione decided there wasn’t a better time to do what she’d been holding off on and she plunged in, “I am truly sorry for my poor behavior at the nightclub.”

Narcissa turned from gazing at some sheeting to look at the small witch in such compassion that Hermione almost wriggled with discomfort. Being wrong and having to admit it was extremely irritating as it so seldom happened to her, but Hermione was determined to make complete amends for her nasty attack; her conscience had been bothering her and it was time to repair her opinion of herself and to honor her budding friendship with the lovely, older witch.

Hermione began to understand why Snape was so taken with Narcissa when the woman quietly replied, “Thank you. That must have taken quite a lot of courage for you to say to me.” She smiled, warming Hermione with her simple sincerity, “Perhaps in time we may even become something of a family. Severus has no one else besides Lucius and me and I understand you’re alone, too. You already know Draco, of course.”

Hermione smiled back, relieved at Narcissa’s acceptance of her apology while hiding her skepticism that Snape would welcome her as his family. Where Draco would fit into Narcissa’s idea of familial bliss, Hermione shuddered to think, but the gentle witch’s olive branch was gratefully taken as the goodhearted gesture it was.

Hermione walked on to the sales counter and soon ordered the numbers and colors they agreed upon. Mrs. Diggory was at the counter and readily agreed to have the order sewn using her own staff and sent within a week. Because of the large order, she offered to include six dozen matching pillowcases for ten percent more and Hermione jumped at the savings. Mrs. Diggory smiled at Hermione, but went stiff at seeing Narcissa.

In deference to the suddenly chill atmosphere, Narcissa removed herself to the entrance to wait for the little witch rather than precipitate another problem. When Mrs. Diggory saw Hermione’s signature, proclaiming she was now a Malfoy, the woman’s face fell into doleful lines, “Oh, you poor dear. Mixing with that crowd isn’t in your best interests, but I suppose it’s too late. Watch out for yourself, Missus.”

“Did you know Narcissa is married to Severus Snape now?” Hermione decided to probe into this possibly interesting little eddy of animosity, the second she’d now actually seen of the problems Lucius had warned her of.

Mrs. Diggory seemed taken aback, and looked over Hermione’s shoulder at the pretty witch standing several metres away by the front door. “Truly? No, I hadn’t heard.” The woman’s face mirrored some type of odd confusion, but as she wrote out the order on the light blue store parchment, wetting her finger and efficiently separating the merchant and customer copies, a small frown returned and she muttered to no one in particular, “Still Pureblood, even so.”

Hermione gathered up her receipt, thanked the proprietress and walked back to Narcissa, waiting patiently by the door. The two witches sailed out of the backwater warehouse in some relief.

“Do you get that cold treatment from other stores?” Hermione asked.

“A few,” Narcissa shrugged. “Mostly Severus comes with me to shop now unless he’s vetted the places ahead of time.” She looked at Hermione with her big, blue, innocent eyes, “Severus says you’re my protection today.”

Hermione quietly fumed at Snape’s assumption that she was now acting as Narcissa’s bodyguard without him mentioning that fact to her, but she recognized the backhanded compliment in his trust. Hermione could now see the low-level anger aimed at Narcissa for being a Pureblood, but also for being linked to the Malfoy family. One more store, then Narcissa would go home and Hermione could portkey back to Hogwarts.

Neither spoke further of the strange incidents and Hermione found her companion’s mind had zoomed ahead to more comfortable things when Narcissa said, “Now we can go to that new stationery emporium. I love the beautiful colors they have.” She nearly danced down the side street coming to a corner and turning, hurrying toward a wide shop front painted white with a calligraphy sign denoting “Rainbow Parchments – Color Your Life”.

“Here we are,” the willowy blonde gushed. “Wait until you see all the lovely colors.” She was walking backwards talking to Hermione when a woman emerged from the store and Narcissa accidentally brushed the other witch, who dropped her parcels.

“Oh! I’m sorr -” Narcissa began to apologize, but the other witch, an older, dumpy woman with untidy gray hair in a low bun and a reddish complexion, which clashed horribly with her plum-colored robes, drew herself up, yanking her robes away from Narcissa. Her packages scattered their contents as she swept her robes over them, and a few pieces of her colored parchment purchases were pushed into a small puddle at the curb. The old woman picked up the sodden parchment, then crushed the useless paper in her hand and shook it at Narcissa.

“You!” she shrieked, incensed. “Look what you’ve done! You haven’t any care except for yourselves. You should be ashamed of yourself. You Purebloods are all alike. Ruin other people’s things, other people’s lives, as you jump for whichever side has the power.”

Before either Hermione or Narcissa could gather her wits, the old woman brought her other hand up and slapped Narcissa across the face with a loud crack that echoed off the brick walls.

Hermione brought up her wand, thinking to protect Narcissa from another attack, but the old woman Disapparated, leaving her alone with a shocked Narcissa Snape.

Narcissa stood with her elegantly manicured, pink-polished nails sliding down the ugly mark turning crimson on her cheek. Slowly, her face crumpled into a forlorn picture of misery and she whispered, “I want…I want…” Her lovely blue eyes filled, and two fat tears slid down her porcelain cheeks.

Hermione understood. “Go home, Narcissa. Go home to your Severus.” She awkwardly patted the other woman’s shoulder, knowing exactly how she felt. If anyone had slapped her, she would probably have instinctively Crucio’d them, but she would also want to run home…to him…to Lucius.

“Forgive me, yes,” she hiccupped on a sob, “I want to go home.” Then she, too, Disapparated. Hermione was appalled at the vicious slap the old witch had given Narcissa and didn’t know what to do. Minutes went by as Hermione tried to process the unprovoked attack, but she had no answers.

She wanted to go back to Lucius, but still had to get the parchment and quills. Slowly entering the emporium, Hermione instantly saw why Narcissa had liked it. The store was designed to appeal mainly to women with rows of colored parchment and stands of different colored quills. Samples of writing in a large variety of shades covered one wall, all labeled with the name of the colored ink displayed.

If Hermione hadn’t been so upset, she actually might have enjoyed wandering the aisles with Narcissa, looking at the pretty origami shapes someone had done using the parchments. Lucius, with his eye for color, might have enjoyed a brief stroll through the place, not that he would admit it. Hermione could envision him arranging his documents by parchment color instead of the ribbon system he used. Then even if a ribbon fell off the scroll, it would still be color-coded. She would have to mention the idea to him…someday.



Instead she quickly found the counter, where a slight young woman, whose nametag announced in sparkly rainbow colors, “Desdemona Mehitabel Burbage, Clerk” stood rearranging a beautiful array of peacock feathers in a tall vase made of iridescent glass. When the little witch walked up to the counter, the young woman smiled and happily wrote down the required items as Hermione briskly ordered the regulation tan parchment and natural color quills in the amount Lucius had on his list.

“Burbage,” Hermione murmured, cocking her head in thought. “There was a teacher at Hogwarts named Burbage,” she said before she remembered the woman’s sad fate at Voldemort’s hands. At her sudden recollection, Hermione put out a hand, “Oh. Forgive me. Was she a relative?” So many had died in the war, there were few who hadn’t lost someone.

The young clerk looked up from her writing, “Yes, Charity Burbage was my aunt. My parents sent me to Beauxbatons as my aunt was a teacher at Hogwarts and they didn’t want any accusations of preferential treatment. I was away at school when the worst hit Hogwarts. I suppose I was lucky…” the young witch shrugged, her eyes sad.

“Well, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Hermione responded with the phrase that had been too often repeated in the last several years.

“Thank you,” the clerk replied, returning to writing up the order. Mercifully, the clerk made no mention of Hermione’s new last name when she signed the order and the petite witch sighed in quiet relief. Enough grief had been doled out to her for the day.

Shaking off her dreary thoughts, Hermione’s curiosity roused and she almost asked the name of the old witch who had just left the store, but decided that Narcissa seemed to know who she was and it served no purpose for Hermione to know. She realized she would need to tell her husband of the incident, but she didn’t want to be in a position to identify the woman to Lucius. It was Snape’s choice what to do, not Lucius’. Hermione didn’t care if there was a twinge of jealousy threading through that decision. And Snape had better not storm at her for failing to protect his wife.

Her choice made to remain in ignorance about the old witch, Hermione left the store, Apparating to the back door of Madam Malkin’s where she had stowed her Hogwarts portkey. Twenty minutes later she was striding down the main Hogwarts hallway, needing to get to Lucius with the invoices she had collected and her news.

It bothered her that Lucius might choose to comfort his ex-wife after such a shocking incident, but she knew it was important to tell him. That he would find out anyway was a given and if Hermione didn’t tell him before he heard it elsewhere, their slim bridge of understanding would dissolve into more acrimony. Hermione didn’t want that for herself. Not anymore. Handing him the knowledge of the old woman’s identity, to go forth and fight dragons for his ex-wife, though, Hermione would not do.

~~~~~

“Severus!” Narcissa wailed. She ran through the foyer of their home in tears. “Severus? Where are you?”

Snape appeared in the doorway that led down to his basement potions laboratory, “Narcissa! What is it?” He strode over to his wife who was sniffing and holding her cheek, her face showing tear tracks in her expensive make-up. Tenderly lifting her trembling hand away from her cheek with his long, chemical-stained fingers, he saw a dark red mark that was already starting to bruise under her fair skin. “What on earth? What happened?”

“Oh, Severus,” she broke down completely and was gathered in gently against her husband’s chest. “She…she hit me.”

He couldn’t get any more out of his wife for a few minutes while she succumbed to her upset, but Snape’s usual, detached demeanor changed instantly to white-hot fury. He patiently soothed his distraught missus with soft pats on her back and slow rocking until her sobs lessened. “Who did this? Was it Hermione?” As far as he was concerned there would be one less witch breathing in the magic world before sunset.

“Of course not!” Narcissa was honestly shocked that Severus could think Hermione would do something like that, but his tone of voice was one Narcissa rarely ever heard and never directed at her. For a moment, she was almost vindictive enough to tell him about the old witch and let him deal with it. His anger was always held in strict control, but the waves of fury she felt coming off him now gave her pause.

He would exact revenge without a qualm. For all that he had worked against Voldemort, Narcissa recognized her husband was nowhere near a saint. His many years of serving the Dark Lord had skewed if not deadened his moral compass to some degree. She had been foolhardy to run to him before reasoning out that he would likely hit the old besom with an Unforgivable and might even be sent to Azkaban. Severus’ wife hiccupped and wiped her cheeks, looking up into fathomless black eyes ready to do murder and she paled as another realization sank in. Hermione would tell Lucius and then there would be two wizards warming cots in Azkaban.

Narcissa made up her mind in a split-second and whispered, “I don’t know who it was. I’ve never seen her before. I accidentally bumped into her and she lost her parcels, which got wet in a puddle. Then,” Narcissa took her hand away from her cheek, “she just hit me.” Narcissa leaned heavily against her husband, “Please, Severus, I want to sit down and have you hold me. Please?”

Thank the Gods she hadn’t mentioned to Hermione that she knew the woman. It was unlikely Hermione would ever see the nasty witch again. She was the grandmother of one of the tenants of a building Lucius had owned many years ago in the area of Norfolk. Narcissa was relieved that Hermione was now ensconced at Hogwarts with little chance of seeing the old biddy. She would have to warn Hermione.

Narcissa let Severus gently seat her on their favorite sofa and took her into his arms again, rocking her perhaps more for his own comfort than hers, but she didn’t mind if they both got some solace.

His presence always soothed her even as it drove her wild. It was an odd combination of sensations, but it worked again this time. Narcissa began to feel decidedly cuddly, pressing her nose into the space above her husband’s shirt collar and inhaling his special scent, a combination of his soap, the smoke from his ever-burning cauldron, and just him. He never bothered with fancy cologne. Unlike Lucius.

Narcissa’s cheek was throbbing, but her arms circled Snape’s waist and she made herself more at home against his chest. Hermione had dealt with Lucius’ smelly candles in a single night where she, Narcissa, had breathed in that vaguely annoying scent for years. Narcissa gave silent, heartfelt thanks that her new husband didn’t favor colognes.

“Let me get you some numbing cream for your cheek, Cissy.” Snape raised his face from his wife’s soft, blonde hair and barked in stentorian accents, “Accio Numbs-It!”

Within a minute the numbing cream floated to Snape’s hand and he dabbed it delicately over the damaged skin, diminishing the pain for his wife. His pain, however, hadn’t diminished in the slightest. “Now, Cissy, who was it? Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying? Why would you shield this woman?” He saw that the handprint was much larger than Hermione’s small mitt and finally believed his wife that her attacker had been someone else.

Narcissa sat up and glared at her idiot mate, “I’m not shielding her, you…you…you dunderhead. I’m shielding you. I don’t want you to go after her and wind up in prison.” Then Narcissa surprised them both by bursting into sobs again, burrowing into Snape’s chest and wetting his shirt all across the front.

The dark wizard knew when he was beaten. “I won’t harm her, dammit.”

“You promise?” a shaky whisper tickled his pectoral where his wife had found a place to nestle.

“Narcissa! She hit you. You expect me not to do anything about this at all?” He wanted to see his wife’s face, but she clung to him when he attempted to pull her up to face him.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” she said fiercely. “Ever!”

Snape sighed. Narcissa knew him well enough to know he would avenge her if she didn’t make him promise. A tiny bite on his chest had him saying, “Well, hell. Dammit, yes, then, I promise.”

“And you won’t try to take revenge using anyone else. Not Lucius. Not Draco. Not anyone. Or anything.” Her woebegone face lifted to look at the man she loved totally. “Promise!”

Snape’s last bit of wiggle room was sewn shut. “Yes, yes, I promise. Is the numbing cream working?” He gently patted the red spot, then lightly pressed.

“There is no pain, now, Severus. Thank you,” she dimpled at her mate, her drowned blue eyes capturing his onyx ones and he fell under her spell yet again. She was gentle and kind and oddly unsullied even after her experiences of the past. He sometimes felt he didn’t deserve her, but she had the uncanny knack of knowing every time his confidence in his worth as her husband faltered. She was very good at shoring up his insecurities and he loved her desperately.

“Do you want an early night?” he probed, worried her upset would need some peace and quiet. Maybe not too quiet, though.

“Yes, please. That would be lovely. I’m sure you can think of any number of ways to take my mind off my distress, Severus.” Narcissa used her feminine fragility to turn her husband’s attention from mayhem to safer and more pleasant pursuits, lightly touching his cheek with her fingertips.

His chest caught halfway through a breath, and his face softened, showing her and only her how much he loved her. “We are sitting on our favorite sofa,” he noted, a playful eyebrow rising over his quietly smiling eyes.

“See? I knew my confidence in you wasn’t misplaced,” she sniffed. Narcissa scrubbed at her cheeks some more to rid them of dried tears while attempting a shaky smile of her own.

Both of them began reaching for each other’s buttons when the floo erupted in a shower of sparks. “Severus! Narcissa! What happened? Are you all right, Cissy? Who was the old bitch? Give me a name.” Lucius’ face was poking through the flames as he searched for his ex and his friend.

“One moment,” Snape whispered to Narcissa, then he rose and strode over to the fireplace. “Lucius, Narcissa is fine. It was merely a slap. I’ve treated her. You may rest easy that I will take care of this. Thank you for your care. Now go away. And next time announce yourself before barging into my floo.”

Lucius looked up at his friend’s half-unbuttoned shirt and grinned, “I can see you are taking good care of your wife. I still want to know the name of the witch who attacked Narcissa, but I’ll wait…until later.” At Severus’ shooing motion, Lucius’ face disappeared from the fire.

Snape went back to sit down next to his wife and began sliding the small buttons from their loops on the back of her navy blue silk dress. He favored dark colors and he liked the way that color enhanced the blue of her eyes and made her pearly skin glow; he had given Madam Malkin instructions to create a few dresses in the navy hue so he could enjoy them on her. Just now, however, the dress was decidedly in the way.

He was just bending over his wife’s pretty, exposed shoulder from behind, his tongue aiming for the sensitive spot under her ear when, “Mother! Severus! Is Mother all right?” The sparks flew from the fireplace a second time and a worried Draco’s face appeared.

“Shite!” growled Snape, slumping back onto the sofa, buttoning his shirt again. Narcissa giggled.

~~~~

Three days later Snape and Narcissa quietly moved into his old dungeon apartments at Hogwarts for her protection until the wizards could discover and end the persecution. Narcissa wasn’t too happy being relocated to the dank subterranean space, but she saw the worry etching her husband’s features and relented for his sake. He had curtailed all her shopping sprees in any case, so there was little reason for her to protest as there was now nowhere to go.

The subterranean rooms themselves were cozy enough, but the twisty hallways outside were somewhat spooky. Snape installed wards all up and down the lonely hallways leading to his rooms, allowing Narcissa to pass through, but no others beside himself. After a couple of teaching staff blundered into the wards and wound up hanging from the ceiling, Snape irascibly relented, but only enough to put up a sign warning others not to use the hallways leading to his apartments as they were off limits and warded.


tbc...

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Don't forget to see the pics at:


http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/60573.html


A review would be lovely. Who would you want to console you - Severus or Lucius? You only get to choose one (yes, I heard all the greedy minds instantly choosing both).

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